


Mimeomia

by DapperSheep



Category: Food Fantasy (Video Game)
Genre: Angst and Humor, Character Study, Gen, Multiple Copies Theory, Other Food Soul Appearances, Random Bouts of Sass, Tagging Prominent Characters As We Go, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-19
Updated: 2018-09-25
Packaged: 2019-07-14 07:42:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16036007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DapperSheep/pseuds/DapperSheep
Summary: He wasn’t the first, nor would he be the last of his kind to walk the surface of Tierra. But many seem adamant to remember him for deeds he hadn’t done, for whispered cruelty his own hands and words did not bring.He wondered if that was all there was to his existence.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbeta'd.

 

The _ether_ is a place that was neither here nor there.

It is a place that which the physical eyes cannot see. That which the conscious mind cannot discern.

Only the thoughts of another world exist here, in the form of a god’s shapeless wishes and dreams, flowing seamlessly between stardust and the memories of the cosmos.

It is where all things of this universe are birthed, and where they return at the end of their journeys. It is a place where [laws] are defined and deconstructed, repeatedly and simultaneously as the universe continues to change. There is no right or wrong, no good or evil. There is no sense of time nor space in its expanse. It is at once, alive and dead.

And somewhere, somehow, something beckons out to the _ether_. A wish for a dream. A dream for a wish. A part of the universe calling out to itself.

From the depths of this endless abyss, the summons is answered.

A dream and a wish parts with the ever constant flow, merging with the stardust and the cosmos’ memories in its path. As it makes its journey across the expanse to a lone planet swimming in this sea of stars, it begins to take shape, segregated and molded by a law that governs the creation of Souls.

It begins to become aware in a way it never has. The dream solidifies into the simulacra, the wish becomes the soul contained within. It becomes attuned to those of its kind who have left their presence on this planet, creating for itself a foundation on which to grow from.

 

_There are no miracles in this world._

What?

_It hurts. Why must it come to this?_

What is-

_If this corrupt world wishes to continue its ways, then so be it._

_I will play their **game**._

_He_ opened his eyes to a world full of color and darkness.

His arrival onto this planet was met with the alien sensation that everything felt free and suffocating all at once. But his simulacra showed no sign of discomfort, rather the sensations all faded quickly in the presence of a metaphorical chain coiling gently but firmly around his very being.

 _A contract._ This he understood and knew.

His lavender eyes traveled to the human who stood before him, gender indiscernible even by the aesthetic of their fleshly body. Their chestnut brown eyes, momentarily revealed by parted silvery grey bangs, hold only surprise and awe at his presence, as if disbelieving that he really exists and they managed to call one.

Behind them, standing at a respectful distance that could be traveled in one swift motion, was a Food Soul who glared at him with hooded reddish eyes. A wicked set of horns crowned his head nestled amongst hair the same color as his eyes.

 _The dog._ His mind supplied, though he had no clue why he initially thought of the other Food Soul as such.

The summoned Food Soul shifted slightly, adjusting his hold on the large fork he held in one gloved hand, then smirked.

“So it is you who have summoned me? Very well, I respectfully welcome you, my master.” His voice echoed in the summoning chamber. Strong, commanding, reeking of the demand for respect to be paid in kind.

A pause followed his short speech.

“Hello, Spaghetti.” Said his master, finally able to compose themselves. They held out their right hand to him and he stared at it almost quizzically. “I’m Peixes. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

Spaghetti looked at the hand outstretched for him to take -he realized- into a handshake. Part of him felt that he should reach out and take it, another part of him longed to sneer at the offered hand as if it were something dirty.

He didn’t understand why he would think of it as dirty, but it would be rude to not do anything. Without another moment of hesitation, he dissipated his weapon and extended his right hand.

The hand of his master felt warm against his gloved hand as they shook. The grip strong and deceptively unrelenting under his brief squeeze.

This is good.

“My master.” He said, a smirk slowly spreading across his lips. Impulsively, he added, “Though I would much prefer calling you my toy, if you would allow me.”

“What-”

He underestimated the speed of the other Food Soul- well, forgotten that he was there when Spaghetti was so focused on the confusion on his master attendant’s face. He never saw that armored fist until it was practically in his face.

Pain exploded in his skull. Stars danced in his blackening vision and he felt himself falling.

“Steak, what the hell?!”

These were the last words he heard before darkness swallowed him up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With intense hopes that this won’t end up as wordy as “Two Words…”. I regard this story as more a thirst-wish fulfillment type of literature ever since I read his lore, and got a Spaghetti of my own to sob over. Will be updated as I see fit.
> 
> Title taken from [The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows](http://www.dictionaryofobscuresorrows.com/). If you haven’t given that site a browse, I would suggest you do so just for the thrill of it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Master Attendant has a few words for Spaghetti.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much talk and worldbuilding about certain summoning mechanics. Unbeta’d.

 

“… And you let the dog carry me.” It was not a question.

Spaghetti sat on the edge of the bed he had been lying in up until a while ago, nursing a throbbing head. Not even a day has passed, and Spaghetti had already learned to hate another Food Soul.

His Master Attendant had pulled up a chair in front of him, and sat across from him with only a foot or two between them.

“He’s not a dog, Spaghetti.” Master Attendant grounded out. “You just offended him.” Thankfully the ‘dog’ in question was told to stay outside and to not interfere in their ‘talk time with Spaghetti’.

“By calling you my toy.” Spaghetti spoke as if it made perfect sense to him.

His Master Attendant pinched the bridge of their nose and breathed. “That’s not something you tell your Master Attendant or anyone else for that matter unless you want to be very rude. And trust me, that wasn’t even in the same category as flirting.”

Spaghetti glowered at a point on the far wall, clenching his hands into fists. ‘Rude? Why was that rude? Were it not the truth that everything on this planet was created or born to be used or toyed with?’ He thought.

He was a new incarnation, of this he was certain. So everything he instinctively knew came from his predecessors or existing copies. It should have been something to question, but Spaghetti lacked the needed brain power with his ongoing headache.

In any case, it felt wrong to antagonize his master attendant, courtesy of his contract, but also because of common sense. It wasn’t like they had wronged him by lecturing him about what was rude and not, though a part of him felt he should be rightfully upset at being lectured by a human.

“I concede to your way of thinking for now, my Master.” He said, with just the barest hint of disdain. “But I do not think it would change the way that I think.”

“I’m not going to force you.” Peixes answered. “Just remember that you’d probably not get friends by telling them they’re toys or something.”

They paused for a considerable moment, thinking hard about something. “I have no idea about Spicy Gluten, though. You might encourage her to uh… pursue you.” Peixes added.

Spaghetti arched a delicate brow. “Why should I concern myself with another’s friendship when all I need is you?” He asked, genuinely curious why it mattered to his master attendant.

Peixes stared at them for a long, long moment. “I’m this close to understanding why your shards are strictly locked behind mid-level guild requirements instead of being available in the regular pool.” His master attendant commented dryly.

“Guild requirements?”

“Oh, right. I wasn’t using the normal summoning station in town. I went to use the guild’s summoning chamber instead.” Peixes explained, “Your shards are only granted to people belonging to reputably active guilds, usually those that have been around long enough to have good standing with the Royal Chef’s Guild. They control the distribution of your shards.”

“What reason is there to disallow more of my incarnations to walk on this world?”

Peixes shrugged. “Dunno. Honestly, aside from you acting high and mighty from the get-go, I don’t know why they would do that. But it’s not like it’s going to fully stop people from summoning you if they don’t use the standard summoning methods.”

“Interesting information, my master. You surely do have your uses.”

The look his master attendant shot him was decidedly long-suffering. Spaghetti couldn’t help feeling a bubble of amusement.

“That is quite a good look on you, if I do say so myself.” Spaghetti chuckled.

“Just… take it easy on the ‘my toy’ usage, Spaghetti. Anyway, let me see that bruise.”

Spaghetti gently acquiesced, turning his head slightly to the side to give them a better view. He’d already been told by his master attendant that his cheek would be sporting a very colorful bruise for a while, never mind that Food Souls healed faster.

They even brought out a mirror when he requested for one just to see how bad it looked. Against his creamy complexion, it stood out terribly.

Steak had a very clear shot at his face without Spaghetti being able to defend himself. And the horned Food Soul didn’t pull his punch. At all.

Yes. Spaghetti would remember this infraction until the day he manages to gut Steak where he stood.

“Spaghetti.” His master attendant’s voice broke him out of his reverie.

“Yes, my master?”

“I need to introduce you to the rest of the Food Souls.” Peixes spoke. “Better now when I have the time to oversee it and make sure you don’t rile anyone else up.”

Something on their face told Spaghetti that it wasn’t something they were looking forward to, but that it had to be done.

Did that mean he was more trouble than he was worth? Spaghetti immediately stiffened his back, throwing his master attendant an offended look. “It is not my fault that people take offense at the truth.” He said.

Peixes rolled their eyes and stood, heading ahead to the door.

“Keep talking like that and I won’t save you from Vodka’s bird.”

Spaghetti did not argue. That sounded almost like a threat.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I forgot to mention that sass would be bread and butter of almost every Food Soul and Master Attendant capable of dishing it out.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spaghetti meets the rest of the family. It’s a mixed reception.

 

_They were countless._

Spaghetti took a second to reconsider the thought.

They weren’t countless. That was an exaggeration. But as his Master Attendant started from the kitchen and pointed out the Food Souls at work, to the ones working in the dining hall, to the ones doing house chores and then the few who were taking a break, he was beginning to consider that it wasn’t far from the truth.

And that wasn’t even adding the teams who were days away on exploration or currently running delivery jobs.

Then he met Rice. Despite her short stature and otherwise weak appearance, she met his gaze steadily. His Master Attendant introduced her as someone they had utmost trust in and he nodded at the shorter Food Soul, acknowledging her at the least.

Then she was left to the chore she voluntarily took on, and the three continued on.

“-And that’s Sanma. You don’t need to worry about him, just leave him alone for the most part. The long haired one beside him is Miso Soup. If you don’t see him on the property sometimes, that’s not a problem. But just tell Pudding or me whenever I’m around if you see him sneaking something from the supply house. He’s not supposed to be in there-”

“Master.”

Peixes paused. “Yes?”

“Remind me again why I have to care about these… Food Souls.” Spaghetti intoned, gesturing to the air. He did file away each and every one of their faces and names and what they were worth to his Master Attendant. But other than that, why he should be concerned about these cogs in the machine was beyond him.

“That’s because you’ll be working with them from now on.” They answered, “I can’t take you out with the field team. That’s not what I planned for you for now.”

Spaghetti rose an inquiring brow. “Ho… then pray tell, what is to be my role exactly?” He asked.

“Something like a household manager? I’m not sure of the right word.” The answer made Spaghetti sniff in distaste. It was a better role than he had anticipated, but it displeased him anyway. If it had been to lead the team on the field, then surely that would be the best option to give him. Still, if this is what his Master Attendant wants, then there was little he could do about it.

Spaghetti straightened his back and lifted his chin, making himself appear as if he was taking this assignment out of pity for his Master Attendant. “You are fortunate that I have some knowledge of handling subordinates. Worry not, my master.” He spoke haughtily. And he wasn’t exaggerating. At the back of his mind, he _knew_ he had the basic know-how.

Peixes smiled wanly at his response, though his tone made Steak tense at their side. “Thanks, thanks.” They replied, “You’ll be sharing Steak’s workload since I’ve recently left the house management to his care and he’s having problems with certain things.”

Spaghetti blinked at the statement. _Why_ their Master Attendant decided the dog was capable of handling a large household was something he honestly wanted to ask, but as he opened his mouth, the words finally sunk into his brain and different words came out.

“I object.” “I don’t need _him_!” Two deep voices protested at the same time. Peixes stared blandly at the pair of redheads like they were dealing with two particularly stubborn children.

“Steak, you need someone to help you keep an eye on everyone while I’m away and we’re in the middle of moving houses. We’ve talked about this.” Their Master Attendant reasoned out. “I know you’d like Tiramisu’s help instead but I’d rather she helped out Yellow Wine’s team first until they’re able to deliver without incidents.”

“Master Attendant, I don’t understand why it has to be him.” Steak pointed at Spaghetti, who frowned in response.

Peixes sighed. “I don’t have a lot of options at the moment, Steak. I’m already spreading you guys thin over everything.”

Steak looked like he wanted to argue a point, but instead he reluctantly backed down and grumbled something under his breath.

“Do we have any other questions, guys?”

Steak muttered a soft ‘no’, while Spaghetti merely shook his head. Satisfied with their answers, Peixes turned to address Spaghetti again.

They continued, “You don’t need to worry too much at the start. Brownie is in charge of the schedules and rotation but there’s usually too much for him to handle alone. So he’d appreciate the help, since Napoleon’s notorious for slacking off when he’s around.”

“Napoleon, hm?”

“You’ll meet him when he comes back from exploration.” They said curtly.

“You have such troublesome Food Souls, my master. I wonder why you haven’t severed your contract with them yet.” Spaghetti said airily.

His Master Attendant fixed him with an unamused glare. “I run a busy restaurant and a suddenly bursting home of Food Souls, Spaghetti. Not a company or a guild.” They answered with more than a bit of irritation lacing their words.

Spaghetti chuckled. “I merely jest, my master. You mustn’t take everything so seriously.”

Steak leaned in towards their Master Attendant and asked in a heated stage whisper, “May I punch him again, Master Attendant?”

“No, you may not.”

 

 

Their last stop was at the makeshift garage at the other end of the property. Spaghetti noted that it was built out of sturdy material, but otherwise looked like it could be deconstructed quickly without too much fanfare. His Master Attendant did mention that they would be moving residences soon, so it was likely this was preempted with that in mind.

Inside of the garage, he could hear a motorbike being revved up and the tinkle of tools being used. As he passed the threshold into the garage, the stench of grease and concentrated liquid crystal hit his nose.

There was only one food truck parked inside, with someone under the chassis and an icy woman sitting cross legged on the bike, drinking whiskey from the chilled bottle beside her. Perched on her shoulder was a falcon that was eyeing all of the newcomers with a sharp, unrelenting gaze.

“Hey Hamburger, Vodka. B-52.” Peixes greeted.

“Oh, Master Attendant. It’s unusual you’d be here. Would you like a drink?” Vodka offered. Spaghetti gave her a cursory look, noting her relaxed manner but noticed that her gaze was on him rather than on their Master Attendant.

“Thanks but it’s still too early for me to drink, Vodka. Maybe next time.”

“Yo, Master Attendant!” The young man under the chassis exclaimed. He slid out and grinned up at them, grease stains on his cheeks and fingers. “Oh? This the new guy?”

“Yeah. This is Spaghetti. He’ll be working with Steak from now on, so if you need anything, just talk to him-”

 

_CRASH!_

 

Spaghetti wasn’t sure what happened in that moment.

He had been looking at the Food Souls in the garage, starting with Vodka, then Hamburger. The third and last Food Soul had been at the back with his back turned to them, going over what looked like a pair of mechanical wings.

They slowly turned around when they were called -B-52, wasn’t it?- and that was when Spaghetti’s eyes focused on a face, with eyes of electric blue surrounded by dark sclera.

He didn’t understand why a pang of anger suddenly bubbled in his chest at the sight of him. In that same breath, the other Food Soul flinched and stumbled backwards, crashing against the boxes and the hanged wings before falling to the ground with a surprised cry.

“B-52? What’s wrong?!” Their Master Attendant cried out in surprise as they rushed over to him with Steak following close by.

“A… apologies, Master Attendant.” B-52 stammered out in a monotone, allowing Steak to pull him back to his feet. Spaghetti remained rooted to his spot, watching the scene unfolding before him.

“What happened?”

“I tripped. Over the tools. I am sorry for worrying you.”

“You sure?”

“Affirmative.”

They didn’t stay long after that, only making sure that B-52 wasn’t hurt and that everything else was in order. Their Master Attendant left the makeshift garage ahead of him, with Steak following closely behind. Spaghetti made to follow right after but stopped. He turned to B-52 to find him looking at him with a dead stare. In his peripheral, he noticed Vodka sharply eyeing them as she drank the rest of her bottle slowly.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Spaghetti asked darkly.

The Food Soul called B-52 could only avert his gaze and shake his head. “A feeling. Unimportant. Please ignore me.” The words were spoken in a flat voice, but Spaghetti could hear a faint tremble in them. It was a curiosity, but one he would dissect at a more convenient time.

Without a backwards glance, he hurried after his Master Attendant, catching only a faint, ‘Well that was weird’ from Hamburger.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Roughly takes place after the Sakurajima arc. I’m just assuming that things go well enough after the Sakurajima arc and you go home after that whole shindig with Inugami and the investigation mission. Like c’mon, you gotta be missing home after all that running around being subjected to all that conspiracy, craziness and near death experiences.
> 
> Andre is a falcon, not an eagle. That is a translation error somewhere. Falcons are the fastest bird of prey in existence and are more used as hunting falcons throughout history. It’s highly likely that Andre is some form of Gyrfalcon, if we’re looking at real life counterparts.


End file.
